


Kinesics

by scrapbullet



Category: American Gods (TV)
Genre: Drabble, M/M, Pre-Series, Puppy Play
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-05-23
Updated: 2017-05-23
Packaged: 2018-11-04 03:43:08
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 350
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10982640
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/scrapbullet/pseuds/scrapbullet
Summary: “Dogs are tactile,” Low-Key muses with a huff of delight. “And you, sweet pup, are justbeggingfor it. Poor bastard. When was the last time you had a little attention, hm?”





	Kinesics

**Author's Note:**

  * Inspired by [Walk The Line](https://archiveofourown.org/works/10907475) by [ClementineStarling](https://archiveofourown.org/users/ClementineStarling/pseuds/ClementineStarling). 



It’s easy when it’s dark, Shadow concludes, to give in. No-one to see, no-one to bare their teeth in smug, lusty grins, no muttered insinuations of _bitch_ or _whore_. It’s all too easy to pull off his shirt and bare his throat, to drop to his knees and nuzzle at Low-Key’s calloused palms until those clever digits massage over his scalp; the best kind of affectionate petting. 

“Dogs are tactile,” Low-Key muses with a huff of delight. “And you, sweet pup, are just _begging_ for it. Poor bastard. When was the last time you had a little attention, hm?” 

The sound that Shadow makes in the back of his throat is unintelligible - a gruff noise of assent that rumbles in his chest, soothing and base and _primitive_ \- as he rubs his lips over Low-Key’s fingers. Thirsty, Shadow laps at skin that tastes of sawdust and sweat, tonguing in between to nibble at the delicate webbing, sucking until the flesh turns hot.

Low-Key swats Shadow’s head, rattling his brain against the bone-walls of his skull. “Nu-uh. Naughty, keep your teeth to yourself.”

His Master is amused, Shadow notes, and so only licks at the blue veins of the wrist in apology. Like a clumsy dog he shoulders his way in closer, falling in to the vee of Low-Key’s legs with a simple joy; huffing, butting his head, playful and open and revelling in the laughter that follows.

Shadow can feel the sigh form within the belly of his Master. He can feel the way it travels up towards the chest, and further still to the hollow of the throat, where Low-Key swallows it back behind sharp teeth and rubs Shadow’s head vigorously. Low-Key’s laughter causes the solid muscles to judder against Shadow’s face, the kind of exhilarated triumph that makes the pup in Shadow beatific with delight and press in, mouthing at worn cotton until it’s wet with saliva.

“Cute little shit, aren’t ya,” Low-Key mutters, bemused.

Shadow grumbles, contented; all satisfied canine at the beck and call of a capricious ruler.

Between strong thighs is where Shadow longs to stay.


End file.
